


Chicken Soup for Your Soulmate

by crescentmoon223



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Season/Series 07, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22841812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crescentmoon223/pseuds/crescentmoon223
Summary: It started with a cough and ended with a kiss (aka how Mulder cared for Scully when she was sick)Listen to the audio version on the Audio Fanfic Podcasthere.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 43
Kudos: 166
Collections: X-Files Fluff Fanfic Exchange (2020)





	Chicken Soup for Your Soulmate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OnlyTheInevitable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyTheInevitable/gifts).



> _For the X Files 2020 Fluffy February Fanfic Exchange, Nicole requested: “Scully catches a cold and Mulder takes care of her.”_
> 
> Set during season 7, shortly after Millennium. I hope you enjoy it! xx

Mulder tapped the tail of his tie against his belt, fidgeting with it to occupy his hands—and his concentration—while Scully turned away, covering her mouth to muffle her cough. Overhead, a tinny voice announced a gate change for a flight to Seattle. All around them, people hurried by, suitcases in tow. Another day. Another airport. Another journey back to DC after making a mess of things in the field.

“You okay, Scully?” he asked.

“Fine, Mulder,” she said, but her voice was hoarse.

He looked at her, noting the slight flush of her cheeks and the glossiness in her eyes. Dammit. No wonder she had been so quiet today. She was coming down with something and being her usual stoic, stubborn self. She hadn’t complained when she had cancer, so of course she wouldn’t make a fuss about a head cold. They’d board soon, and he knew from past experience how miserable it was to fly while congested.

He also knew the withering look he’d receive if he tried to dole out medical advice to his favorite medical doctor. Sometimes with Scully, actions were better received than words.

“Be right back,” he told her. “I’m going to stretch my legs before we board.”

She nodded, pulling a book out of her briefcase.

He made a pit stop in the men’s room before heading to the gift shop. He walked to the selection of travel-sized toiletries and medications along the back wall and grabbed a small box of Sudafed before perusing the snacks. Automatically, he snagged a bag of sunflower seeds for himself. Choosing something for Scully was more difficult. What would sound good to her while she was sick but still be healthy enough that she wouldn’t turn her nose up at it?

Of course, he could have just asked her what she wanted, but he’d wanted to surprise her with a thoughtful gesture. It had been weeks now since their New Year’s Eve kiss. Their _first_ kiss. It had altered the dynamic of their partnership in an unspoken way, like an extra file wedged into the already overflowing cabinet in their basement office, once that announced, _“You kissed, and you both liked it”_ in big, red letters.

So far, neither of them had been bold enough to make the next move, or even to address their millennium kiss. But he was thinking about it almost every time he saw her. Hell, he was thinking about it most nights at home alone in his bed. He’d been thinking about kissing her for years.

He’d been thinking about it that night he walked in on her and Eddie Van Blundht about to make out on her couch. _She thought it was me. She would have kissed me_. He’d been thinking about it that fateful afternoon in the hallway outside his apartment when their lips had been moments from touching before that damned bee stung her and sent him to Antarctica to save her. _She would have kissed me then too_. He’d sure as hell been thinking about it when he kissed that alternate version of her onboard the Queen Anne back in 1939. Not knowing if he was about to die, his last wish had been to kiss her.

He selected a cup of fat free honey-flavored yogurt. It wasn’t quite the same as her bee pollen, but hopefully she would like it. Honey was supposed to be soothing on a sore throat, wasn’t it? Two bottles of water completed his purchase.

She’d been more reserved with him since their New Year’s Eve kiss, as if she felt the subtle shift in their relationship as acutely as he did and wasn’t quite sure what to do about it. That made two of them. They were nothing if not masters of tiptoeing around their emotions.

He paid for his purchases and walked back to the row of seats where he’d left her. She sat, black blazer unbuttoned to reveal the gray shirt she wore beneath, focused on her book. As he dropped into the seat beside her, she looked over at him, eyebrows lifting slightly as he held the Sudafed, water, and yogurt in her direction.

“Thanks,” she murmured, putting down her book to accept his offerings.

“Didn’t want to listen to you cough all the way home,” he joked, immediately wanting to smack himself on the forehead, because he’d happily listen to her cough if it meant he was beside her.

She rolled her eyes at him as she popped a pill out of the pack and washed it down with a swig of water before opening the yogurt, and he felt smugly pleased about his purchases.

There was a fine line with Scully, not enough or too much. Over the years, he’d tended to walk on the safe side of that line, but lately, he found himself wanting to cross it.

“Got plans this weekend?” he asked, leaning back in the too-small plastic seat and crossing one leg over the other.

“I imagine my weekend will involve a lot of tea and Sudafed,” she said, holding up the package with a wry smile. She sounded even more congested than she had a few minutes ago. Whatever she’d picked up, it was hitting her hard and fast.

“Any interest in a _Twilight Zone_ marathon?” he asked, imagining them sitting together on her couch, watching his favorite show as he brought her tea and wrapped her in a big, soft blanket.

“Pass,” she said.

“Flight 7921 with nonstop service to Washington DC is now boarding from gate two,” the tinny voice overhead announced.

“That’s us, Mulder.” She tucked the bottle of water and Sudafed into her briefcase before standing to throw away the empty yogurt container.

He rose, resting his hand against the small of her back as they walked to their gate, pondering his next move, just how far over that line he wanted to step once they were back home in DC.

* * *

A knock at the door jarred Scully from a restless, feverish sleep. She groaned as she dragged herself upright on the couch, registering the dull ache in her bones, the heavy pressure in her sinuses, the rawness in her throat as she swallowed.

God, she hated being sick. And she definitely did _not_ want to see one of her neighbors right now. Hopefully there wasn’t a medical emergency in the building, because she wasn’t exactly in top form, but such was the life of a doctor.

She stood, tightening the belt of her robe around her waist as she walked to the door. A quick peek through the peephole revealed the only non-neighbor who had access to her building: Mulder. They’d exchanged keys years ago, a necessity in their constantly upended lives.

She unlocked the door and pulled it open. “Mulder, what are you doing here?”

“Brought chicken soup,” he said, holding up a plastic bag. “And a few other things I thought you might like. I can just drop them off and go if you don’t want company.”

She motioned him in, less annoyed than she would have anticipated about him intruding on her sick day. “What other things?”

With that signature Mulder grin, he walked to her kitchen table and emptied the contents of his shopping bags, revealing a large container of soup, a blue bottle of Gatorade, and a package of popsicles, plus some decongestant and cough drops.

She felt a little pinch in her chest that had nothing to do with the germs currently doing war inside her body and everything to do with the man standing in front of her. “Thank you. That was very thoughtful.”

“Want me to warm you up a bowl of soup?”

“Actually, that sounds perfect.” She hadn’t eaten much of anything today, mostly dozing on the couch in a miserable stupor.

He shooed her out of the kitchen. “Go sit down. I’ve got this.”

“Okay,” she acquiesced, too tired to argue. As she walked to the couch, he was already putting the popsicles in her freezer, moving effortlessly around her kitchen, a reminder of just how much time they’d spent together over the years.

She curled up on the couch, tucking her feet into her robe, trying to get warm. When was the last time she’d had someone here to take care of her when she was sick? She couldn’t remember. If pressed, she would have insisted she didn’t want to be taken care of. She was perfectly fine on her own, always had been, always would be.

But then there was Mulder, carrying a steaming bowl of soup into the living room, looking so happy to be useful, and really, where was the harm in letting him fuss over her, just this once?

“Can I get you anything else?” he asked as he set the bowl on the table in front of her.

“No, thank you.” She took another dose of the cold medicine she’d left there before reaching for the bowl of soup. “I notice you didn’t bring your _Twilight Zone_ tapes with you.”

“I can take a hint,” he said, sitting in the chair across from her.

“Occasionally,” she said with a smile. She sipped the soup, savoring the warm broth as it slid over her sore throat. “Mm, that’s good.”

“I’m glad.”

She didn’t ask if he’d made it. She knew it was store bought. That wasn’t the point. He’d given up whatever conspiracy chasing he’d had planned on this sunny Saturday to bring her soup.

They made idle conversation as she ate, and then he brought her empty bowl to the sink. His cell phone rang, and he answered it in the kitchen, talking in hushed tones. Probably the Gunmen or someone else with a lead for him to chase. Her eyelids were getting heavy again. She lay down, pulling the throw blanket over herself. Mulder could show himself out after he got off the phone. As she closed her eyes, she realized she felt a bit better with a belly full of warm soup.

She woke to the sound of the television, the sharp blast of a whistle and the cheer of a crowd. She squinted through bleary eyes to find Mulder kicked back in the chair beside the couch, feet on the coffee table as he stared intently at the TV.

“You’re still here?” she croaked before dissolving in a fit of coughing.

“Got nowhere else to be,” he said, transferring that intense gaze from the football game to her.

She sat up, swiping at her eyes as the coughing eased. Somehow, he managed to look perfectly at home on her blue and white striped chair that was way too small for his oversized, lanky frame. He wore a long-sleeved Jets T-shirt with well-worn jeans, and if he looked handsome in a suit and tie, it had nothing on casual weekend Mulder. She had the irrational urge to curl up in his lap and rest her head on his chest, to feel his heart beating against her cheek and the warmth of his arms around her.

Where had _that_ come from? Shaking her head at herself, she stood and went down the hall to the bathroom. When she made it back to the living room, he had a popsicle in each hand.

“Grape or cherry?” he asked.

“Cherry,” she answered, extending a hand.

He handed her the red popsicle, sitting on the couch beside her to eat them. “Feeling any better?”

“Maybe a little,” she said, although it might have more to do with his presence than a lessening of her symptoms.

“Want me to turn that off?” he asked, waving his popsicle in the direction of the TV.

“No, it’s fine.” She shifted closer to him as she ate, sighing gratefully as the icy treat soothed her throat. When she finished, he took the stick from her and leaned forward, setting it with his on a coaster on the table.

“Need anything else?”

She shook her head, suppressing a smile as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Gradually, she relaxed into his embrace, letting her side press against his, warming her through her robe. And then, because she couldn’t quite help herself, she rested her head against his shoulder.

He reached over and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, an unusually tender expression on his face. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

Her brow wrinkled. That was an odd thing for him to say.

“Been thinking about this a lot,” he said. “You know, since New Year’s Eve.”

Ah, the kiss they’d been dancing around for weeks now. This wasn’t exactly the best time to bring it up, but she doubted he was about to. They were both familiar with the steps to this dance, side stepping the things they didn’t want to address, instead sharing their feelings without words.

“Me too,” she whispered.

And that was that. He sat and watched football as she dozed on his shoulder, relaxed and comfortable, happier than she’d felt in a while, confident that this roundabout dance would eventually bring them together.

It was late when he finally stood to leave. “Want company again tomorrow?”

“Not particularly,” she told him, feeling the twitch of her lips that belied her words.

He clutched his heart in mock affront. “Your loss.”

“Thanks for today,” she said, gripping his hand in hers.

“Anytime, Scully.” His teasing smile faded as his gaze dropped to her lips, and something warm fluttered to life inside her that had nothing to do with her fever.

If she hadn’t been sick, she would have kissed him. She wanted to so badly. But since she ought to keep her germs to herself, she went up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his cheek. His hands landed on her waist, and his face turned, bringing their lips together for a sizzling moment before she stepped backward out of his arms.

“Germs,” she whispered, heart racing and a giddy smile on her face.

“Worth the risk.” He winked, backing toward the door. “So, same time tomorrow?”

Her smile widened. “See you tomorrow.”


End file.
